I Will Not Watch the Ocean
by Elske
Summary: A pirate fic of a different colour - starring Will Turner's mum. Notable appearances by Bootstrap, Jack, and sexy!Barbossa. Updated.
1. And As I Slept I Felt Him Go

"I Will Not Watch the Ocean"

            It was years before I understood why it was that William Turner ever married me. I wasn't anyone…interesting, that was certain. Not the sort of woman who merited or deserved the interest of such a dashing sailor, no…not I. I was just…a woman, plain and plump and ordinary, the daughter of a harbourmaster of a port in Cornwall who couldn't afford the latest fashions from London for both of his daughters. Papa doted on both of us, to be sure – my older prettier sister got gowns and corsets and suitors; I got a large hat to shield my eyes from the summer son and the freedom to run about the docks, helping my father with his recordbooks. The sea called to me, just as it always had done to my father. During the winters, I dreamed of the feel of the sun on my face in summer and the tales I'd heard of the new world, of a place called the Caribbean, of places where the sun shone al the time and brightly-coloured birds flitted through the trees and the scents of exotic flowers filled the air. If I were beautiful like my sister, I would have longed for a wealthy suitor who would take me to the new world – as it was, I merely counted the coins set aside for my dowry and wondered how long it would be before I could declare myself an old maid.

            And then…a ship with black sails came to our harbour, and before I knew it, everything was changing.

            Everyone else called him Bootstrap. Bootstrap Bill. But he let me call him William – an honour that only his fascinating flamboyant young captain shared. He stayed there, talking to me…me, of all people…until Papa shooed him away. He returned, many times…every day, in fact, stopping and chatting and I encouraged his attention even if I wasn't quite sure I deserved it. The day before the _Black Pearl_ left our harbour, he asked for permission to court me. He kissed me once, tenderly, after I'd given it – and he sailed away at dawn.

            A year later, he returned with a ring and three yards of silk for a gown. He apologized that he hadn't any treasures to spill at my feet, because I deserved them, but it was more than enough for me and for Papa. We were married on a spring morning. Our wedding night was neither like the horror-stories the ladies at the tavern told nor like the passion in the scandalous novel my sister brought home from London. He loved me tenderly, cautiously, sweetly. We bought a house with my dowry and William took over my job as Papa's assistant, leaving me cooped up indoors preparing for the arrival of little Will or Sallie. 

            Three months after young William was born, the _Black Pearl_ once again returned to our harbour. Captain Sparrow had found a new first mate, a handsome man with brilliant blue eyes and a tiny baby monkey whose cries were louder than young William's. My husband seemed…changed when the crew of the _Peral _returned. He was dimmed, sobered, dulled. His eyes followed Sparrow when he thought no one was watching; the blatant hunger and adoration I saw there was at once heartbreaking and terrifying.

            One night, when I was supposed to be asleep, I overheard a conversation – and everything suddenly began to make sense. I understood now…why he was the sort of man who would prefer a patient and understanding wife to one that was beautiful and cold. I understood why his love was true and his passion absent – and it wasn't that he was incapable of it, no, merely that I was the wrong sort of recipient for it. He did not return to my bed that night, nor the next. I understood why. The look in his dark eyes when he gazed on me was quietly apologetic, and as heartbreaking as the one he gave Sparrow. And so I drew him aside and told him that he needn't worry, that I understood. We talked, long into the night, until it was morning and my husband preparing to sail off with the crew of the _Pearl_. He was off in search of treasure, he whispered, when saying goodbye. He would bring home gold and jewels to pour at the feet of little William and myself, enough for us to movie our lives to the new world, to buy me a house and let me sit in the sun and listen to the songs of the birds while little William played in the gentle aqua sea.  It was irresistible. His stories always were. With a heavy heart, I kissed his lips and sent him on his way.

            The next year passed swiftly. I returned to my childhood task, helping my father keep the records of the comings and goings of our harbour. Little William learned to toddle around behind me, wide-eyed, forever pointing out at the boats. I told him bedtime stories about his father. The sun rose and set, the world turned, and eventually….the _Pearl_ returned.

            William had no treasure to pour at his family's feet. They had yet to find it, it seemed, but once they did we'd all be wealthy beyond compare. He fussed over little William, told tales of the voyages…and then drifted off with Sparrow, leaving me alone with the first mate and his inquisitive monkey. The lonely sailor told stories of his youth, of a pretty young girl and an orchard. She'd been pretty like me, he said, and it was a statement that unaccountably made me blush. He'd been penniless and joined a crew heading out to sea and promised to return to her – yet a fever took her, in his absence. A decade had passed and he could no longer remember her face, just the taste of her kisses. He rested his head in my lap and I fed him bites of apple and eventually we discovered a way to fill the long lonely nights. What can I say…I was neither the first nor the last married woman to be seduced by a charming pirate.

            It would be two years before the _Pearl_ would return. Neither little William nor I returned to the docks – we stayed inside, safe indoors, away from the sea. I taught him how to read and write and cipher; I encouraged him to go with his cousin and watch his uncle work at the forge. They were a safe sort of occupations to cultivate in the little one. I did not want my son taken away, charmed off by the lure of the sea. We got news, occasionally. And eventually the _Pearl_returned.

            The entire crew seemed…older. They'd had a brush with death, the details of which none of the men would share. William returned to my bed, clinging to me as if he'd never let me go. I comforted him, the best I could, listened as he told tales of a new treasure that they would hunt – and once they'd found it, he swore he would leave the sea behind. He would bring home enough…just enough to get us all to the new world, enough so that he would never have to risk his life to the seas again. He told of the danger of this trip, and I knew – with a sudden sense of surety – that he would never return.

            He left at dawn, and as I slept I felt him go.


	2. No Earthly Ships

            I never expected to see it again…the great ship with black sails that somehow managed to change my life every time it appeared in our harbour. Yet…here it was, returning, long after I'd gotten the last letters from William, long after I'd gotten word from the former first mate – now the captain of the _Pearl_, of my husband's demise, of the demise of Jack Sparrow. It did not surprise me that they were both gone…William could not live without his Sparrow; that had been proven time and again. Yet some of the crew of the _Pearl_ had survived, and some had returned and…I cursed my fluttering heart, my wayward thoughts, my hopes that it was me for whom they were returning. In a strange sort of calm I told my son to run along and play with his cousins, a request that he was more than happy to fulfill. He loved his cousins, he loved sitting at his uncle's forge – loved that even more than the allure of the sea. It was a love I had tried hard to cultivate in him, in my son, my little Will. More than anything, I feared losing the last man left in my life to the sea, as I'd already lost all the others. But perhaps…perhaps I hadn't quite lost them all.

            One of the maids came upstairs and said that I had a visitor, and so I calmly got to my feet and straightened my skirts and went down to meet him. It was, of course, Hector…Hector Barbossa, alive and _here_, and there was something terribly alluring the way his tired eyes lit when he saw me coming down the stairs. I crossed to his side and offered my hand, and some sort of soft pleasantry about what a pleasant surprise it was to see him. He ignored the proffered hand and reached out to pull me into a fierce embrace, murmuring something incomprehensible about life and death and apples and waiting for something at last to seem warm and real and substantial. I asked him to come in for tea, and apologized that I hadn't any apples – they were out of season, after all. He reached for my hand and squeezed it for a moment, murmured that it didn't matter, not when he had _me_, and he seemed rather pleased at how much I blushed at that. Tea lasted far too long, or perhaps not long enough; when it was over, I shyly took his hand and led him upstairs. He was charming, he was attentive, he was passionate, he returned to _me_…and I was no longer married. Perhaps this excuses my conduct. Perhaps it does not.

            Later, much later, I awoke to the sound of soft weeping. I was, after all, a mother – and accustomed to waking on such occasions. But my son was away and it was the pirate who shared my bed who was hurting. I reached out, offering silent comfort; he accepted it, moved chastely into my arms. His tears were warm, his voice was anguished as he spoke, telling about how he never _believed_ in children's stories, in faerietales, in curses…but that was the only explanation he could find for what was happening to him. He was losing his humanity, he said, he was falling apart, he was going insane; he could feel nothing, anymore, not even…his voice broke and shook, there, and I offered soft reassurances, soothed, the best I could. It wasn't enough – could anything be enough to heal a hurt that bad? – but somehow it sufficed. He slept, calmly, in my arms; I sat awake and watched him sleeping, because there was nothing else I could do.

            He spent a week at my side, the days in my house, the nights in my bed. I awoke one morning to find him gone, and although I spent some time wishing he would return to me…he never did. The _Pearl_ had sailed away in the night.

            And once again I was left alone.

            No earthly ships would ever bring him home.

_Author's Notes:_

            Firstly, I must say that this chapter is entirely dedicated to my Cielness. *pets Cielness*. For some reason, I blame it entirely on her – perhaps it's just too too ironic, for one that _I_ am blaming _her_ for writing blatant _heterosexuality_, and for two that I'm blaming her for writing piratefic when she hasn't even seen "Pirates". Ah well, somehow, someway, this is all for her. And all her fault. Or something. *laughs*

            Secondly, I hope this wasn't too squicky. I live in a bubble, where ten years ago, Barbossa was sexy. Sexy and vulnerable and not decrepit and falling apart and all skeleton-y. I have this set right after they've taken the gold…and he said that it took them a while to understand the curse, and so I'd assume if it was taking them a while to figure out the curse, I'd imagine that they weren't turning into skeletons in the moonlight right away. *laughs*. (As to why Jack Sparrow did…all I can say is that he's Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy, and the rules don't apply, especially if it's a convenient plot device. ;)). So. There will be more, in which…things are explained. Whee. Explanations. But in the meantime, enjoy.

            Oh, and a word to the wise – once you get Sexy!Barbossa in your head, he's very difficult to silence. :-p Just so all of you know.

            Up next from Elske – the next chapter of "One Night More", a ficlet starring PeterSmithKingsley!Norrington, and…maybe something mangoy, if I find myself incapable of resisting the impulse. ;)

            Ee, I almost forgot – thanks to both of you who reviewed this. :) *snuggles both of you*.

Peace,

            ~*Elske~*


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